


cut you up and never let go

by lesbiantogruta



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Horror, Tragedy, let ahsoka live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiantogruta/pseuds/lesbiantogruta
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles about Ahsoka & Anakin, from the Clone Wars to Rebels and past that...





	1. Chapter 1

"It was the man in black who was the deadly one, the kind of man you knew at a glance you couldn't touch and live." –Fritz Leiber

* * *

 

 To still cling to a relic, a vestige of the past, was perhaps dangerous, foolish. Still, she treasured what she had left, for it was all that remained. When she spoke of a larger shadow endowed with wrath, a dark stain against a bright sky, she couldn't help but wonder—what had happened?

There was only silence to greet her, another drink being poured late at night as she bit down sharply on her lip, drawing blood.

There were no answers to be found and no one to give them.

It hovered between the precipice, a bitter, sharp tongue that cut into the marrow, and the broken pieces shattered once more. Kind blue eyes that had crinkled when he praised her were replaced with yellow irises, an inferno of rage and hate. Love welled up all at once, and all the dust and gore and trenches and the closeness were still there.

In another time, he removed the Padawan braid himself when she was Knighted, tucking away the braid of silka beads, rolling them between his mechanical fingers, a reminder. In another time they still fought side by side.

Together.

He really was like no other and neither was she, together—kind, brave and determined.

The steady rasp of the respirator continued.

_You wish to destroy me? You think I will give up Obi-Wan to you?_

  _Where were you when I needed you?  
_

_I made a choice. (without you)  
_

She has dreamed of her own death and died so many deaths that weren't hers. In her dreams, she has killed and been killed. She has wept, but tears do no good for the dead, they do not wash the blood from your hands or remove the stench of cooked skin.

  
Ahsoka stood in a vast desert, waiting. Unable to move, she glanced down, and at once choked on flames overtaking her body and fell, dying once more.

She had once thought it'd be alright to fall and break her neck, a short, quick, almost painless death-- but this—this lasts forever, lasts millions of years. She is caught in an agony she has never experienced. While every star burns out and all the planets perish and still she is left, writhing. There is no relief, only white heat, disemboweling and charring, she can't shut it out only scream, her whole body twisting in pain.

  
Reaching out, please help please, there—suddenly is Master Kenobi… but he remains unmoved, staring down, with a flickering range of pity or disgust or anger or sadness or love in his eyes. There are tears, no there is only hate. He refuses to grant her release from suffering.

It is Master— _Skyguy—Anakin_ , towering over her, tall and imposing, but she knew he had cared, she knew…

_Please Master, Skyguy, Anakin…please…_

_You failed me, Ahsoka._ He snarls. It rings over and over.

_I know I know I'm sorry let me help please help me_

A Jedi has no attachments.

He turns, as shifting ash clogs her nose, fills her throat. She watches his back as he walks away from her, leaving her to burn, she cries for him to return to her, yet guttural moans are the only noise she can make now, taking the place of sobbing—Ahsoka's tear ducts have been firmly melted, vocal chords seared.

Laughter rises, heat turns to cold, light fades.

There—her hands close tight over his own once more, lingering, the beads feel far heavier than they are.

All that remains and a shadow.


	2. age of heroes

Do you ever think about me standing there and waiting for you? Do you ever wonder?

* * *

 

_What does the galaxy need to know—that I am the one to blame for the empire, for the fall of Anakin Skywalker? Was my presence needed to prevent his corruption?_

_What happened? Please, tell me!_

_You know I would've helped you, but you never asked and so I never came._

She shifts through sand. One hand on a small grave. All that stretches before her is that same horizon of gritty, abrasive sand that long ago she had landed on with her new Master on those first missions.

Did she stand before his pyre and light it herself—? Long after she had been knighted and he made a Master, when he had died honorably in battle, in defense of the weak.

He had done his duty and a small boy and girl clutch at her hands, one on either side. The girl is bolder, like her father before her, "What will happen to us?" it's a demand, her warm brown eyes burn fierce and bright while still full of tears.

_I will find a way to make this world better for you, somehow. It is all I can do, all he would want._

**No.**

He is an old man and he brings Ahsoka's hands up to his face—she notices her own hands have wrinkled and that she does ache from the years. Anakin holds her hands and he is surrounded by his children and wife and grandchildren. Vaguely, Ahsoka feels a hand on her shoulder, her own child, supporting her mother.

Anakin smiles at her, for it has been a good and long life, and she has been his sister through it all. Obi-Wan having passed years ago. It was peaceful, this is peaceful, it is alright, there's death, but there is the force.

They are both calm, the air is warm and the sound of cool fountains and birdsong fill the air.

It has been a good long life for Anakin Skywalker.

_"Ahsoka, don't go.."_

_"I'm right here."_  She tries to assure him.

_"No, you left me."_

There are ashes in her hand now.

_How does one forgive their fathers?_

_How can one forgive themselves?_

Kneeling by the grave she lets the ashes float free into the faint breeze and she closes her eyes, believing she can feel a spirit released, finally free of shackles. She sees it so clearly flying, unbound,

 _free free free_  the wind seems to chants

_I'm not a Jedi, but I am here to free slaves._

A miracle, a gathering of storm clouds, the slaying of a monster, the freeing of peoples.

Lightning strikes and the sky darkens to a red as the desert calls.

She listens.

An old woman by a fire tells her of the beginning.

"...and Yuudra banished Talgarlos to the edge of the world, to the wild, and there she stayed. But, she was clever and used a beast to kill for her, to corrupt and twist-and she found, in time, that she had a need to have one further corrupt the world, one of her own flesh. Her daughter was born to the desert, to the wilds, but raised among humans. When she was old enough, Talgarlos believed Irispomas, her daughter, would seek the goddess out herself." the old woman smiled faintly, voice growing softer.

"Irispomas, however, slew her mother's beast and refused to follow the legacy of her mother."

The woman looked away from the fire and into the wastes, Ahsoka waited.

"So, tell me daughter," the old woman's eyes grew sharper, voice stronger, demanding, "Are you the great beast slayer who denied her destiny of chaos and took up the spear?"

"Or have you followed the path of your mother, the source of all suffering and evil?"

In a fevered sleep, she tosses, and mumbles,  _Kalifa, Steela her fault her fault_

_Anakin..._

More and more added, she cradles Anakin's cooling corpse, no Kalifa's  _no_  she let Anakin fall of the cliff, a sick crack as his neck snapped on the ground below. A pool of blood forming around his head.

Again, he dreams and she turns around this time, looks back, but Anakin's mother told him not to a long time ago, she will not for him.

_Who or what he is (was)?_

_I once knew a brave man. I once knew a man who would do anything for his friends. I once knew a kind man. I once knew a man who could never have committed such acts._

_I did also know an angry man with rage and sorrow in his heart._

_I saw the good and bad, the dark and light, but I believed in him. I did. I was younger then, though._

When her eyes open, she is sure she must have screamed from the blinding pain of the dream—no, of the memory she must have shared. She is sure, no other feeling could resonate as loud as his. Ahsoka still feels that phantom pain and she grips at her arms and stretches her legs, just desperately trying to forget the sensation of loss—of the burning. Obi-Wan truly had told her next to nothing, lies mixed in with the truth, for that shadow was still Anakin, just…broken..ripped apart…

But, it was still him.

Stumbling off the small cot, Ahsoka attempts to meditate, release the feelings into the force, but it feels as if bugs have burrowed underneath her skin and focus eludes her. She is sick, a horrible churning in her gut, the Dark Side it grows and feeds off hate and pain and it has been fed so long, it has sustained him, become a bloated black cloud, festering like an open wound, threatening to finally kill all life.

_Can't you see? Don't you know what you've done?_

She jumps up, suddenly full of righteous fury, maybe he was right, she thinks viciously, Anakin killed children for Force's sake! He needs to be destroyed. Everyday beings are killed, tortured, and enslaved by the Empire and he is the Emperor's right hand man—he must be stopped..

Did she have the strength to do it, though?

Maybe.

Truth was, she could not face him alone, but already, searching her own feelings—it might be the only way, no one else should have to die by his hand. If she survived the encounter, well…there was another dream she could remember quite vividly...

* * *

 

_She had been accused of sedition and terrorism against the Republic. The guards marched her into the council chamber, a cold band around her throat cut her off from the force, her hands shackled, their masks betrayed nothing as they forced her to the ground. The council members were silent, hooded, until a voice spoke, near monotone,_

_"Ahsoka Tano, you have been found guilty of crimes against the Republic."_

_Anakin stepped forward, she looked away from his eyes, staring resolutely at the floor, this was wrong, she hadn't—he would help her—her head snapped up pleadingly, "I didn't do this!" she wailed in protest._

_"You have been found guilty—but as a former member of the Jedi Order we shall honor your request."_

My request? What-?

_Anakin's blade flickered to life. A steady hum filled the chamber._

_Ahsoka's eyes widened, she met his eyes this time, "Master--! You know I didn't do this! I didn't kill anyone." She was surprised at how steady her voice was._

_There was a struggle in his eyes, she was sure they were over bright, he couldn't do this, she knew it. He **wouldn't**  do this. Not to her._

_"Ahsoka," his voice was choked as he knelt before her, "You are my sister, little one, and I promise, I would never let anyone hurt you."_

_That promise, she trusted him, she trusted his words. She bowed her head and with a sizzle her chains fell away and he helped her up, standing tall and defiant by her side._

_Yet, from the shadows he stepped forth, smoke swirling around him, ash filling the air, she looked around wildly for Anakin but he had faded away—she was left with—with—_

_This time when Darth Vader raised his blade to strike her there was no hesitation._

* * *

 

However, it was not the end of the age of heroes, she heard the force call, not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

She was in the caves of Ilum with her Master, "The crystal is the heart of the blade." Master Skywalker intoned, Ahsoka took a breath, centered herself, the parts of the lightsaber moving, building, coming together as one. She kept her eyes tightly closed at first, slowly becoming aware of every individual ache in her legs. She had journeyed here for The Gathering, but this was the first time she had made the trip with her Master.

Shivering, despite the thick cloak, she chanced a quick peek at her Master, who seemed almost infuriatingly calm. There was a first time for everything she supposed, he had already shown to be much more adept at moving meditation and had encouraged her to do the same—not that she minded, of course.

She found her thoughts wandering, rather than focusing on the words or clearing herself of emotion. She couldn't help but to think of the Jedi seated across from her, just how had he felt when Master Kenobi had brought him here? Nervous? Scared?

Her leg was beginning to fall asleep, but she didn't shift it, squirming just about as much as she dared to.

_Kriff it!_

She felt the distinct urge to pee, the need having made itself known as they hiked through the frozen wasteland, but she hadn't wanted to crouch in the blizzard.

Now, she was reminded of the chapter in the book Master Skywalker had gave her—about the Trial of Flesh during the Pius Dea Era.

They used to torture Padawans with cold, sonic shocks, and cutting. A form of purging one of attachment to the body—that such methods would work in divorcing the body from the spirit, a way to surpass pain, which would show that one was ready to become a Knight. This must be her own Trial—but surely her Master wouldn't subject her to that sort of pain…Though, she still wasn't sure of where she stood with him.

Ahsoka guessed that she'd find out soon enough.

"The heart is the crystal of the Jedi." Master Skywalker recited, seemingly oblivious to her struggle.

This wasn't working, she wasn't doing this right. She was too distracted. There should be some sort of vision that she should have as she found her crystal. But, so far she felt nothing.

Ahsoka shut her eyes tighter, seeing only blackness and flashes of red, what if this was a sign? That she was not truly destined to be a Jedi. The Force had let her build her first lightsaber and proceeded to let her see how useless it all was. No, no…she couldn't have failed so soon!

_It's already happened. It's already too late. There's nothing you can do._

_Fulcrum._

She jolted, standing. The voice had seemed to be hissed directly into her ear. She began to open her mouth, ready to warn Skyguy—there was an intruder-!

He wasn't where he had just been sitting. The last words of his recitation ringing in her ears. "Skyguy? Master-?" she peeped, uncertainly. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it seemed to echo around the chamber of crystals.

She closed her eyes.

_There—a rush of fire and ice, a wave crashing over a tower, she cradled a boy in her arms. A woman with soft brown eyes, lines of sorrow etched into her face.. A gasp of horror—air cut off, pressure around a neck, squeezing tighter… The Living Force and its Sons._

_Be mindful, daughter. He may have been born a son of suns but you are the wildfire, all consuming, a supernova, a rush of death, the beating of wings, that last death rattle._

_Beware._

A sharp pain. The vision faded as quickly as it had come. She had trouble holding onto it, as the images and words rushed away as quickly as water through a sieve.

She was sitting once more—and this time, she clearly saw the way of building her next lightsaber.

The crystals now sung to her, a bright, high and cheerful melody, but one was clearer than the others.

"The Jedi is the crystal of the Force." Her Master, present again, spoke, clear and burning in the Force.

Ahsoka knew in her heart that this one would gleam as green as her last saber, which had been lost in battle, she felt a brief pang for it.

"The Force is the blade of the heart." Master Skywalker continued.

The pieces formed together, circling, locking into place, a steady glow and the hum of the crystals around them filled the caverns. She reached towards their barely formed bond and felt pride and her heart soared in response.

"All are intertwined.

The crystal, the blade, the Jedi."

It was finished, she snuck a peak at Skyguy, and he smiled back.

"We are one….Snips." Anakin added for good measure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's not just a rock--it's a riverstone!!!

_"He would want you to have it, as I do. It is my most treasured possession." Obi-Wan reached out and closed Anakin's fingers over the stone. "I hope it will be with you always to remind you of Qui-Gon and me, of our deep regard for you."_

_Anakin's smile lit his face. "I'll treasure it. Thank you, Master."_

—Jedi Quest: The Way of the Apprentice by Jude Watson

* * *

 

Anakin hadn't gotten to see her thirteenth birthday, so instead, when Ahsoka turned sixteen he had presented her with the Padawan gift.

It was the gift passed down the line, from Qui-Gon, to Obi-Wan to himself, and now, to her. It was only right. He almost expected her to attempt not to roll her eyes at him, to bite her lip, and screw up her face as if to say "Is this all, Master? Really? A rock is all our bond is worth?" or maybe, "Gee, thanks, Skyguy!" and he would do his best stern Master impression on not judging on first impression or something before explaining its significance and giving her a hug.

He thinks she's the same as he was, and still is—never sure she's quite worthy of the legacy of being a great Jedi and he wishes he could tell her just how much she really means and he's already spoke with Padme and Ahsoka's surprise gift is a shopping spree and dinner out-he really doesn't care about the Code at this moment, he just wants her happy and confident in her position as Padawan.

So, he presents her with the black stone, it's warm in his hands, and he swears it glows a bit brighter, reflecting beams of sunlight that pour through the Temple windows, when he places it in her own hands.

Ahsoka smiles though, widely, showing off her fierce Togrutan canines, and through their bond he feels fireworks erupt and knows almost instantly that Obi-Wan must have already spoken to her of the stone—told her the story of how as a Padawan it had saved Obi-Wan's memories.

She's doing her best to retain a bit of Jedi dignity, fidgeting in place, "Thank you, Master. I'm—I will cherish it." Now, she's sounding far too proper for his taste.

"Are you certain about that, my Padawan?" he fixes a stern look, but can't quite keep up the charade—and they're both laughing. Ahsoka's wrapped tight around his middle. "You bet, Skyguy." She quips, and he holds her tightly and pretends just for a moment that attachment is allowed and she can be his sister, his daughter...

"Well, c'mon, Snips…I've got another surprise for you," he pats her back once, "After all, what kind of Master just gives their Padawan a rock for their birthday?"

They set off together, Ahsoka keeping the stone clasped tightly in her hand.


	5. there are rules, I am coming for you

_**You can run but you can't be saved.** _   
_**Darkness brings evil things, oh the reckoning begins.** _   
_**You have opened the yawning grave.** _

* * *

 

The Force guides his hand in this. This is what he believes. What he must trust…in this matter.

She stares up at him in a holo, frozen in time as that small child, thrust into violence and war.

Yet, here she is excited, dare he say,  _passionate._  He remembers that day well, perhaps, even fondly. Ahsoka—how widely she smiled and hugged Anakin Skywalker’s middle.

“A successful mission. We’re proud of her, aren’t we?” Padmé had given him a pointed look.

_“Yes. Always…”_

“Always…” he repeats. His voice having lost that same timbre he once had. Now, it seems to him to match the sound of a dried out insect husk, brittle and rough.

A droid with a mirror hovers closer and he stares. He looks like a mere shell…of what Ahsoka had known.

Anakin Skywalker peeled away, layer by layer, down to the bone, the viscera. Everything she knew all burnt away.

He has spent hours in the past weeks truly taking in his injuries. Spending nights meditating on just why he could only hear her call of,  _“Anakin!”_   repeated again and again through the Force—a message, a warning.

Did he hear thinly veiled disgust in her tone? Something desperate –something he couldn’t place? Why did it plague him so?

Just why did imagining her look of shock and horror and the potential of her responding with revulsion upon seeing his face uncovered unsettle him so deeply…? Make him want–

He felt more, a raw vulnerability, such that caused him to wish he could run, to hide…to just be able to take huge gasps of air somewhere open and spacious–the feeling of confinement and claustrophobia only increasing daily since her presence revealed itself to him.

He needs this to be planned, exact, and he needs more  _time._

The hour approaches faster. He has come to a conclusion.

The Force guides his hand.

Darth Vader realizes he must resemble Anakin Skywalker once more…not for long…but for her, for a little while.

Just for her.

He wishes to be something not so pale and strange to her, not so monstrous. For, he already senses the ache of pain and the twinge of fear across their fragmented bond. He hates that he cannot adequately explain why this is so important, why he even imagines removing any part of his suit in a confrontation…though he suppose he could quickly… ** _no_** …what foolishness.

Still, he remains as the droids prep for cosmetic surgery. If his Master found out he had been attempting to reshape his body and undo damage…to lessen the effectiveness of his suit…

Well, he supposed the extra pain and anguish from his punishment would only bring greater power.

A droid begins rubbing a healing salve into his scalp, soothing the scars, burns, and indents left by the needles.

Now, another needle comes to jab into his cheek, administered by his loyal droid, independent of his Master, who would administer a lethal dose of sedatives if he so ordered her.

She hovered, monitoring his vitals.

Oh, it was agonizing. He had to bite back a scream as his face shifted, his skin taking on a healthier glow, hair follicles re-knitting themselves to reform eyebrows and he examined his face as it had been….years ago…

Or near to it…

There were deep wrinkles that remained—speaking of a premature aging, and the scar…he made sure it was as she remembered. She would recognize the one along his right eye.

It wasn’t that he thought he had ever had a kind face or a soft one, but seeing it, so close, as if the fire had almost not ravaged him so…he could pretend—

No. There was no time.

His eyes stung. The mask descended. Needles sank into his flesh. Red overtook his vision. He crushed the holo.

Ahsoka Tano and her Master disappeared.

The respirator forced his chest in and out.

_In the end, I saved lives._

_I saved lives, Ahsoka._

_And I shall save yours now._


	6. Chapter 6

_O my enemy._

_Do I terrify?_

— From Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

* * *

 

Riyo Chuchi had gripped her arm while they lay in bed together, her head in the crook of Ahsoka's shoulder. "I'm worried," her voice was still heavy with sleep, "It's just a feeling, but—I can't shake it, even now."

Ahsoka kissed along her jaw and forehead.

"I know. But, it'll be alright, I believe that much."

They had settled in, just enjoying being in eachothers arms, saving the struggle and the rebellion for another day. Organa's meeting was tomorrow after all.

They had laid outside, Ahsoka languidly stretching, she wondered when her limbs had begun to feel so heavy— _Vape it_ , she felt old.

"Here." Riyo beckoned Ahsoka over to lay her head in her lap so she could massage her shoulders.  _If I could just lay here._..Ahsoka thought drowsily, soon, though…she knew Riyo was already imagining it after they had freed the galaxy, the two of them, adopting, raising a family. Being able to share a blissful, happy life.

_I will teach them something more than war…I will…_ she tried to picture their children, yet they seemed to melt—to resemble the younglings' faces she had led to llum…Kalifa's even.

_Her face beaded with sweat, she was running through the night with Kalifa, leaping over branches, their pursuers close behind, they stumbled out into a clearing, stars overhead. Kalifa dragged her into the crook of a tree._

_"You're alive, thank—" she was running her hands over Ahsoka's montrals, giddiness pulsating through the Force._

_"He's hunting for you now, he knows, he knows you live."_

_Kalifa held her hands tightly, "You must flee while you still hold blood in your veins and warmth in your heart, please Ahsoka...don't let him kill you." it caught in her throat along with that same dying promise, Kalifa faded back among the branches._

_Ahsoka was left with nothing but the faint scent of soil._

"—soka? Ahsoka?" Riyo had been calling her name, probably over and over, lightly shaking her, worry on her face. Ahsoka snapped up.

Release, release it into the Force. Her brief furlough was over.

"I can't run...Not this time."

* * *

 

She rose from the ash and dust, a bird in flight full of secrets contained deep in the catacombs. It was fear he felt and she had caused it, the air crackled around them, and lightning seemed to course through his veins, his life support struggling. The acrid smell of burnt plasteel lingering in his nostrils. Another labored breath, another…

She fell upon him, vindictive, all rage. Had Kenobi taught her that? She acted as if she had been betrayed, when it had been them! Tano and Kenobi plotting against him!

_How irrational…is that what the Emperor told you?_  A sad, quiet voice sighed. It was barely audible, but there all the same.

_Anakin, why would I have protected you if I never cared?_  Ahsoka's voice echoed in his mind clear and firm. There was truth in her words.

She defended, blocked, never swept down in the tides of his blows, not broken nor straining and not felled as so many had been by his hand.

_Are you trying to kill her, Lord Vader, truly?_

**_YES._ **

He is certain, unyielding, unbreakable…yet,

his suit is compromised and the pace set is both unmanageable and unsustainable as his damaged lungs burn with every intake of air. Black spots dance in his eyes… the past is inescapable as it echoes all around them, he sees blades crash together, reds and blues and greens—a whirlwind of dizzying, blinding color mixing together and they fall—one by one—younglings and adults alike keep marching forward and the bodies pile up –rotting, forming their own pyramid of bleached bones—

He sees Ahsoka, though younger, petulant, biting her lip, she has lost men under her command and there is a weight in her heart, innocence lost, childhood taken—

Sparks dance as the blades strike eachother, she is Light and he is Dark and they clash as they have in this temple for ages, the galaxy will sooner consume itself than end this struggle that has forever allowed the Force to gorge itself on death.

It is fueled by emotions and lack thereof, an endless cycle—death, violence, and hate.

the temple roars its warning, destruction is imminent, death is…

_No death. Only the force._

_Master and Apprentice, always two._

The silka beads bear a heavy weight, he cannot forget where he carries them still.

_Do you not remember when you strung her first merit bead yourself? When it was the last object to remain of that life? It was that last connection and in the soot of Mustafar you clung to it—clung to it as your Master walked away and you burned. You've kept it all this time. Anakin Skywalker lives because of her…_

There is a brilliant flash of light and the sound of something very large and very old, lumbering towards them,  _Tutaminis_ —it chants, he increases his focus, wards off the ill effects of the energy that the temple lashes out with.  _Curato—_ they are both past their breaking points.

_He lives…_

When he had felt her once more, when Ahsoka had rose from death. She rose a being of light, freedom singing through her. Ahsoka became a guiding light, a beacon, a hope.

There were cracks in the foundation, the first of them, a splintering, a vergence, she strips away his armor, his protection and he shivers, blinded, helpless.

She was Light. It echoes and cuts a blade through the darkness, one that is incorruptible, firm and terrible at once. She sears into him, to his very core.

Pure and fierce, he had forgotten its strength, the pull.., He is young once more, Master Obi-Wan calls for him, and Anakin Skywalker is in despair, agony within his heart.

_I don't want to feel!_

_The hook in his heart seared him, and he knew its name. It was love._

_He had learned one thing about love: It was besides the point. It didn't make anything smoother, or better. Most of the time, it just complicated things._

_Why would he want to feel again, when feeling hurt so much?_

_It was a burden, guilt and pleasure, a hurt that seared, dug deep into skin and muscle down into his very core._

**_Love._ **

He could handle pain, but not this, not this torment.

_Ahsoka…_

His daughter, his sister, his apprentice, his student,  _Snips_ …he had marked her, dragged her down this path, and now, at the end…

_For a moment he was sure he hadn't spoken her name aloud, but the croaking, rasp of his own voice and the burn in his throat told him otherwise. The sensation overwhelmed, his exposed eye stung, and she seemed to waver in his vision as he looked upon a woman he'd never thought he'd see again with his own eyes._

The last thing he is aware of is her, white blades singing, blues eyes as determined as when she had first landed on that battlefield so many lifetimes ago. A last, reckless charge, a final war cry. Their never severed training bond screamed—urging them to stop. But, it was too late.

_Ahsoka. I'm…_

There was nothing left but a void. A gaping maw. Darkness.

He is alone.

* * *

 

"I don't want to feel...", etc is from Jedi Quest, The Moment of Truth, by Jude Watson


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was inspired by this picture: http://carororo.com/post/142211260851/i-wont-leave-you-not-this-time

Ahsoka was a shining beacon of light in a dark galaxy…beautiful…perfect…

The Jedi Order had stolen her away, and he,  _he_  had hurt her.

But, she was here now and she said she wouldn’t leave.

Vader abruptly turned, he could not dwell on such sentiment when his own wounds and the damage to his suit were in urgent need of repair.  

She watched then, trailing after. He said nothing, just proceeded as he usually did within his hyperbaric chamber. The mask and armor are removed and the droid hovered closer to insert tubes. His lungs are strained and he’s not able to make more than painful wheezing gasps on his own.

Ahsoka’s face is inscrutable, though he feels what she does, it could not be clearer.  

They never severed that training bond.

She’s a shining light, where he’s felt so cold. It’s like being dropped on Tatooine after an extended period on Hoth. Yet, she is nothing like the scorching, blistering suns, but comforting, familiar. A kind of warmth all her own.

She is a soothing presence, and it does not surprise him when she circles in front, still seemingly impassive, her face a mask he cannot read, and for the moment, neither can he feel her—she is there but her emotions remain veiled, hidden from him.

He waits.

A hand suddenly moves forward carefully, it lingers close to his cheek, she’s debating, hovering over the burnt and scarred skin.  There, so gingerly she lays a palm, just barely touching. His eyes close and he feels her bring their foreheads together. Vader would feel content to just allow this, her touch, her presence forever—she eases the pain and he struggles with what that leaves him with.

He lowers his head, eyes opening fractionally. She is weeping, silently. Thumb running gently on that early scar by his right eye, the one she knew.

It was a gentle sad smile that graced her face, strained though. She was frazzled, stressed, Vader could sense her accessing his injuries through the Force. It pained her, clearly.

Still, she had never been frightened nor had an aversion to his mechanical limb when he had hugged her or she had gone to loop a friendly arm around his… and she showed no such signs now, running her hand on his forehead stroking it gently and another curling around his shoulders—he savored the warmth of her hand.

A sobbing noise welled up from his throat, as he went through all the movements of crying, without actually being able to.  

_What happened?_

He lets himself be held. He can offer no words of comfort. Vader just stays silent, what could he possibly say? She will not understand.

_Show me._

_Is this it?_

A glimpse, he knows, she had had this dream—she is burning, he can feel the flames lick his body once more, tasting gritty ash below him, Obi-Wan watches  _no_..in this vision. He is the watcher. A gasp. He is trying in vain to get oxygen to his lungs, frantic, an animal caught in a trap.

Her hands soothe—peace is in his grasp. He is calmed.

It is a strange feeling with her here, so close, peaceful despite a lingering vision of Kenobi.

He nods once.

_Not quite, but close, young one._

She snorts.  _I am not so young._

Vader knows this and he aches. He’s missed so much. He has a reckless, selfish idea. “Stay.” He rasps.  It is not a command, he realizes. There is no threat of force behind it, either. No. it is a plea. A desperate one at that.

Ahsoka’s eyes peer into his own. Searching for something. He’s not sure what she finds but she does settle in beside him, his med-droid peeking curiously at her. He motions for it to attend to her wounds.

Then, for the first time in a long, long while, he leads her in meditation.

They breathe, welcome the presence of each other’s minds. He feels youthful, excited, almost dizzy with happiness, feeling her own thoughts and emotions move across his shields as a wave. She has gotten better, she is able to seep into the cracks—find a breach. He drops any shields though, allows her to see into his mind.

Her own is a vast forest. A tangling place of branches and underbrush. Vader doubts even his own Master would be able to find the information he might need without a guide.

They just stay there, in tune with one another. A paternal wave of affection bubbling up inside. He sees himself, no, he sees Anakin Skywalker take her shoulders—though his prosthetics remain—and that expanse of golden skin and soft hair is still marred but—the man seems content. 

Ahsoka smiles, no longer bone weary.

There is such a sense of serenity he cannot stand it.

A bright field. A slow murmur of voices and chimes, the sweet smell of incense in the air. Home.

He blinks. Reaches out a hand for her.

But…where is she? What has happened? Who took her? She is  _HIS_. No one else’s!

**_If you don’t care for someone…you don’t deserve…_** His mother’s voice floats in.

“Lord Vader, please, stay down!” an anxious voice implores him. But, he will not be mollified. She is gone and they will not have her. No one will harm her.  _No one!_  He unleashes his rage, reaching out, crushing, he is in a blind fury, though unable to move, strapped down and helpless.

**_…you don’t deserve to have them._ **

_Was she ever even here?_

Or was that a hallucination of his oxygen starved brain? Some part of him that longed for a kind touch…?

It haunts him. He is on edge. Awaiting her return….She will come back—she must…. It is those days after her departure from the Temple all over again. When he sat on the steps, his mind chanting,   _she will change her mind, she will turn around. She will stay._

He wants her aura of Light and compassion to once again be there. He craves it, he realizes. Does he want to destroy that? Would he find pleasure in it? (his Master would he realizes. For, that is all he does, sully the perfect Light. Her Light.)

He hates.

He was forced to leave her.

His Master allows no opportunities for him to go back to Malachor clandestinely, sending him on missions far from the planet. He even orders Vader not to step foot on the planet again. It is compromised, he says.  

And Vader is considering for the first time disobeying, ordering the fleet around, his Master be damned to the lowest Hells. Despite being well aware that Tarkin would inform the Emperor of even the slightest breach in conduct.

So, he hires a bounty hunter, orders her to be discreet, pays her off, and makes sure his threats are effective.

He wants Ahsoka back at his side,  _now._  Force help those who try to stop him.


End file.
